


drabble dump

by orihime



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orihime/pseuds/orihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 prompts, 30 drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drabble dump

**i. beginning**

Neither of them had known when it began. Maybe it had been there all along, since the first time they saw each other, the first time they said hello, the first time they held hands, all those years ago. Maybe it had been there since the beginning, and they were just a little too slow in realizing that what was between them lied beyond feelings of friendship.

Better late than never, though, right?

**ii. accusation**

Rumors were an everyday thing, like morning showers, like breakfast, like waking up in each other's arms (that didn't happen every day; not yet, but it happened so often it might as well). Haru could hear students speaking in whispers to each other, _hey, did you hear, Nanase and Tachibana are a thing now, no way but I just saw Tachibana-kun with Iwami-san, and they were blushing, and I think they were holding hands the other day, poor Nanase-kun_ , and although he made sure to never listen to them, he wasn't the most confident person in the world. He could doubt. He was only human.

(One glance at his boyfriend's green eyes, though, and he knew he shouldn't be confident in himself; but in Makoto's love for him)

**iii. restless**

Sounds of hurried footsteps could be heard all around the Nanase household, where a nervous Makoto was pacing back and forth, arranging and rearranging the chairs around the table, taking out a book from the shelves, reading a few words from a random page, putting it back in place. Going to Haru's room; to his boyfriend in the kitchen, sitting down, biting his nails.

He kept going like this until Haru called out to him, hitting him lightly on the head, and at the same time the doors slid open and Haru's parents came in. Makoto glanced at Haru, a helpless expression on his face.

Haru took his hand and squeezed. _It'll be okay._

**iv. snowflake**

He supposed snow suited him. Cold, pale, plain frozen water. He, too, was cold, his skin was fairly pale, and he was (mostly) water. Wished he could be literally water, though; it was a frequent thought in the back of his mind.

But another thing he had in common with the snow was that it melted when the sun came out. And just like snow, Haru, too, felt like he was melting when Makoto, his very own personal sun, was around.

**v. haze**

Makoto was never fond of rainy days. He enjoyed being outside, basking in the sunlight, breathing in the fresh air of Iwatobi. Rainy days prevented him of doing what he enjoyed the most, but the real reason why he detested this weather was because of what came after: fog.

It wouldn't bother him much if it wasn't for the fact that it made Iwatobi look like one of those horror movies where the fog is everywhere and the protagonist has to run for their lives if they don't want to die, and it filled him with a sense of paranoia and dread that was present from the moment the fog set in until it cleared up.

On those days, Haru always made sure to be right by Makoto's side, more than usual.

**vi. flame**

Hands roaming torsos, tongues tracing collarbones, hips grinding together, clothes thrown all around them. Heavy gasps for air, long, breathy moans, calls for each other's names. Haruka felt as if he was on fire as Makoto's mouth explored every inch of his body, a heat building up inside of him, threatening to burn him to a crisp from the inside out. A long, particularly loud moan slipped past his lips as Makoto took him into his mouth, and he could've sworn he was actually burning.

If this was what the flames of hell felt like; he thought as his boyfriend pressed his tongue flat against his cock and dragged it from the base to the tip, then he wouldn't mind burning like this for eternity.

**vii. formal**

The moment Makoto stepped out of their room, fully changed, hair neatly combed and smelling so good it made Haru's mouth water, the smaller of the two was sure he wouldn't last long if he kept his eyes on his boyfriend. He was about to suggest they just skip and stay home, so he could be the only one admiring how well that suit hugged the brunette's muscles, but Makoto gently reminded him that _no, Haru, we can't not go—it's Kou-chan's wedding!_

If he'd been speaking out loud or this was another Makoto-reading-his-mind thing, he wasn't sure, but he _was_ sure that the teasing grin on his boyfriend's face and the kiss they shared held many promises for the after-party.

Haru couldn't wait.

**viii. companion**

Going shopping, swimming, studying. Going to school, shopping for groceries, cooking. Playing videogames, lying on the floor on terribly hot days, bundling up on the bed in cold days. Babysitting the twins, doing chores, lazying around.

No matter what he was doing, whenever he looked at his side; there was Haru—a constant presence right by Makoto’s side.

**ix. move**

“Ah—you okay, Ha-haru?” Makoto was breathless, sweaty, overwhelmed, impatient; and the pleasure running through his veins left prickles on his scorching hot skin. His hips twitched forwards involuntarily, and the movement caused him to bury himself deeper into Haruka’s ass; to the point where, if he looked down, he knew he’d be able to see his cock fully sheathed in his boyfriend’s hole.

His question went unanswered, though, as Haruka couldn’t manage to utter anything else other than raspy gasps and trembling, short little moans. Haru’s pale, smooth, long, _sinful_ legs wrapped themselves tighter around Makoto’s waist, bringing him down, closer, pressing their bodies harder together; and Makoto could feel the sticky trails of Haru’s pre-come between their stomachs.

Haru moved his arms to grip and pull at Makoto’s hair instead of the bedsheets, dragging him down for an open-mouthed, sloppy, messy kiss at the same time as he started squirming beneath Makoto; and when they parted, they breathed into each other’s mouths and Haruka’s high-pitched, embarrassed, delicious moans were going to be Makoto’s downfall, he decided.

 _Scratch that_ , he thought vaguely: Haruka himself would be Makoto’s downfall, he corrected himself, as his boyfriend licked at Makoto’s lips and spoke in a voice that was laced with lust and need and _love_.

“Move, Makoto”

**x. silver**

Haru had never been a fan of the silver color. It reminded him of gloomy clouds painting the sky with sadness on a rainy day, it reminded him of the moment before everything went dark, it reminded him of indecisiveness. It was stupid, really; to feel so hostile towards something as harmless as a color, but Haru couldn’t help it. No good things ever came out of something that was tinted silver—that was tinted grey.

He _used_ to feel that way, at least; until just recently.

Then Makoto came one day, and showed him that silver wasn’t such a bad color after all: that the gloomy grey clouds on the sky were only temporary and a prelude of a better, happier day tomorrow; that one saw grey before seeing the light once more, that it didn’t necessarily mean indecisiveness but one more option.

Makoto showed him happiness and love could also be colored silver, Haru thought; a small, warm smile adorning his expression as he glanced with affection at the slim silver ring resting at the base of the third finger of his left hand.

**xi. prepared**

When Makoto got home from his first week-long business trip, he expected to be received by a warm house, the smell of fried mackerel in the air, and Haru’s smooth, firm voice ringing in his ears with a _welcome home_. They’d kiss each other softly, eat dinner, and watch a movie together before going to bed. Makoto would tell Haru how much he missed him, and Haru would scoff and look the other way when he whispered _I missed you too_.

But, when he stepped into the house, tugging on his tie, desperate to get out of his suit; the house wasn’t warm, it didn’t smell of fried mackerel, and Haru’s voice was nowhere to be heard. “Haru?” he called, removing his shoes and placing his coat and briefcase on the kitchen table, venturing further in to the house. A quick look into the bathroom told him Haru wasn’t soaking in the tub, and Makoto was starting to worry as he made his way towards their room. What if something had happened to Haru? What if Haru had left of his own volition?

Biting his lip and forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind he twisted the doorknob, pushing open the door to their bedroom. Feeling along the wall for the light switch, he turned it on; and was instantly frozen on his spot at what he found on their bed: his boyfriend was resting his back against the headboard, stark naked and his legs as far apart from each other as they would go. Haru’s face was flushed a bright red that went down to his neck, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, lazily pumping his dick as he looked straight into Makoto’s eyes. “Welcome home,” his boyfriend said; his voice barely above a whisper, rough and raspy and laced with an intense lust that made Makoto’s cock twitch in his pants as he moaned softly, appreciating the sight in front of him.

Moving fast enough to give Flash a run for his money, Makoto was hovering above Haru in no time, roughly planting his lips on Haru’s, running his hands up and down his boyfriend’s thighs. “I’m back,” he replied between kisses and moans, attempting to unbutton his pants with one hand and running the other one closer to Haru’s entrance. His hand faltered as he traced one finger around his boyfriend’s hole, feeling it moist and slippery, and a low _oh god_ slipped past his lips as he pictured his boyfriend, face down on their bed, fucking himself open with his own fingers as he waited for Makoto to come home. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he teased; although they both knew Makoto wasn’t doing any better. Haru lifted himself off the bed just enough to kiss Makoto roughly, sloppily, as his hands slapped Makoto’s away from his pants to undo them himself and take a hold of Makoto’s dick and line it up with his hole.

“Just hurry up and fuck me already”

**xii. knowledge**

“Co-Congratulations, Nanase-kun!”

“WELL DONE, NANASE!”

“Nanase-kun, I’m so jealous! You’re so lucky!”

“It’s not that I didn’t see it coming, but it’s still kind of disappointing… for me. For you, it must be the best thing that ever happened, right? I’d feel that way if I was you.”

“Yo-you better treasure the time you get together! Because we—we’re not giving up!”

“Bet’cha all the girls are dying to be you, right, Nanase?”

“And some boys, too!”

“Haruka-senpai, congratulations!”

“What is it?” Haruka asked rather harshly as Kou joined in the swamp of congratulating words he had been thrown at the whole day by almost the entire student body in the school. He had only replied to them by giving them a look that varied in confusion and melted into irritation as the day went on, not having the slightest clue about what people were congratulating him about. And now that Rin’s little sister was here—and apparently having an idea of what was going on—he was finally going to find out. “What are you congratulating me about? Everyone’s been doing that the whole day”

“Eh? You mean you—oh my god,” she said, before turning around and giving Nagisa a look that had _I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU_ written all over her face; to which the blond replied by giving her a wink and a thumbs up before cannonballing into the pool. Kou sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand as the other one rummaged through the pockets of her jacket, fishing out her cellphone. Tapping at the screen, she had Haruka waiting impatiently before she shoved the device on his face, grimacing. “I’m talking about this, Haruka-senpai.”

On the screen Haru could see what was apparently an entry on Nagisa’s blog: the title in big, bold letters read **“NOT SO SHOCKING DISCOVERY! A PAIR OF LOVEBIRDS IN THE POOL AFTER HOURS”** and Haruka vaguely wondered if it was possible that his insides had come to life and started doing somersaults behind his skin as he kept reading about how Nagisa had returned to the Iwatobi pool long after practice had ended because he had left his cellphone behind, subsequently walking in on the swim club captain and vice-captain still loitering around the premises; and had succeeded in witnessing one of their most private moments: confirming everyone’s suspicions of _The Iwatobi Sweethearts_ being actually romantically involved, despite the two of them being always so quick to deny such assumptions.

 _“These aren’t news,”_ Nagisa wrote, _“but it’s nice to finally have a confirmation of what everyone assumed to be true but some refused to acknowledge, don’t you think? Now, girls and boys, we can finally rest assured knowing that our cute angel Mako-chan and mackerel enthusiast Haru-chan belong to each other, so some of you can stop pining and save yourself some heartbreak at Haru-chan’s blunt but necessary rejections, and save Mako-chan the stress of knowing your feelings are hurt when he does. As the saying goes, there’s plenty of other fish in the sea!!!!”_

The entry finished with Nagisa further proving his point with a picture of Makoto and Haru in the pool, the sun setting behind them on the horizon as Haruka clung to Makoto’s shoulders, the taller of the two bent down, with Haru’s lips captured between his. The picture was of an incredibly good quality for a phone camera, and he made a mental note to visit Nagisa’s page again to save it in case it got deleted—which was not going to happen, knowing Nagisa; but better be safe than sorry.

Just as he finished reading, the door to the pool slammed open and a flustered, out of breath Makoto came into the room, catching Haru’s gaze. Makoto’s face was flushed a bright red that went down to his neck, and in his expression Haru could clearly read a mixture of distress and embarrassment. Haru shrugged, thinking that they all would find out sooner or later, and this saved them the trouble of coming out: he was only grateful that his friends and classmates had taken it well and were supportive, even. As Makoto approached him, Haru turned to Kou and gave her cellphone back, thanking her quietly—both for her words of congratulations, and for finally clearing up the situation.

“Haruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!” Makoto’s voice reached him, and he glanced to the side where his boyfriend was standing, looking as if he might start crying any time now. Haru understood: Makoto was easily embarrassed and this was something that they both had wanted to personally inform the people around them when they felt like they were ready—Nagisa would, of course, get an earful when Haru got the chance to talk to him—but their apparently worst kept secret had been laid out in the open already, and there was nothing they could do to take it back; so Haru did what he thought was best in that moment, standing on his tiptoes and brushing his lips against Makoto’s while one of his hands came up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek and took one of Makoto’s hands with his other one, intertwining their fingers.

“It’s okay,” he said, because he knew Makoto needed reassurance about this. “Everything’s good, we don’t have to hide anymore.” And his words made Makoto’s eyes water once again as he nodded, resting his forehead on Haru’s.

Then the sound of a camera going off startled them out of their little world, reminding them that they weren’t alone; and a look to his left revealed the culprit: Kou’s eyes were shining and her cheeks were tinted pink as she smiled fondly at her phone, and Haruka sighed. He’d have to borrow his friends’ phones for a while to get those pictures.

**xiii. denial**

No. You’re not missing your best friend, Nanase Haruka, he’s only been gone for half a day, and will you get out of the bathtub already? It’s past noon and you still haven’t had breakfast.

No. No you’re not crushing on your best friend, Nanase Haruka, you just appreciate him and what he does for you. You appreciate that he’s always there for you.

No. You’re not jealous of that Maki-chan girl who can ask your best friend out on a date without risking 17 years of friendship, Nanase Haruka, look at her. She’s cute and has nice curves and long, silky hair, and would be such a good girlfriend to Makoto. You’re not a girl.

No. You’re not upset because you’re not a girl, Nanase Haruka, you don’t have any reason for wanting to be a girl.

No. You’re not feeling relieved because your best friend rejected another girl who confessed to him, Nanase Haruka, how many times has it happened this week? Four, five? Stop discreetly pumping your fist in the air every time it happens. What are you celebrating?

No. You’re not feeling butterflies in your stomach whenever your best friend smiles at you, Nanase Haruka, he is not blushing, the butterflies are a figment of your imagination, and that is your best friend.

No. You don’t want to hold your best friend’s hand, Nanase Haruka, you don’t want to intertwine your fingers with his and feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your skin and crawling up your arm—because there is no reason why you’d want to let Makoto’s heat warm your body up. There’s no reason why you’d want to feel Makoto’s soft lips on yours as they pepper kisses on your mouth, your cheeks, your jaw. There’s no reason why you’d want to feel Makoto’s skin on yours, his hands on your hips, on your chest, cupping your cheeks as he kisses you breathless.

No. You’re going to stop lying to yourself, Nanase Haruka, you are _in love_ with your _best friend_.

**xiv. wind**

A light breeze blows and ruffles through Haru’s raven-colored hair and he breathes in; his eyelids fluttering closed and blocking his view of the vast ocean extending before him. In the air he smells salt and dead trees and cold; he smells autumn, he smells memories and what this place means to him: the first time he ever opened up and showed his true feelings to his best friend, and the first time their mutual outburst caused a breach in their friendship that was proving difficult to mend, and he smells loneliness.

 _It can’t be helped_ , he thinks vaguely, and when he opens his eyes once more, the brilliant blue of his eyes is dulled, his gaze fixed on a faraway spot on the horizon, and he wishes words came as easily to him as they come to Nagisa. He wishes he was as brave as Rei. He wishes he was a risk-taker like Rin, who went after what he wanted with a headlock on his fears. He wishes he was a closet lion-heart like Makoto.

 _Makoto_. Even in his thoughts the name of his best friend leaves a bitter taste on him: even though they’ve been working on their relationship after graduating high school, there were still some things that needed to be addressed; but neither of them knew how to approach them. Those unresolved issues were what was making their relationship tense and far from being the heartwarming, reassuring companionship that they had once been to one another. Haru wishes, as ridiculous and clichéd as it may sound, that he had a time machine. To tell his high school self to stop running, to tell himself that everything would be okay, that he didn’t have to fight alone; that he shouldn’t take Makoto for granted, that he should open his eyes already and stop denying his own situation, his own feelings.

But words don’t come easily to him as they come to Nagisa, and he isn’t as brave as Rei, and he freezes when someone mentions potential risks, unlike Rin; who barges in on them head first, and his heart isn’t anything like a lion’s, like Makoto’s.

He fishes his sketchpad from his backpack and leans on the railing for support, messily sketching a picture of two young boys sitting on a set of swings, eyes on each other, spring around them. He scribbles a sloppy _I’m sorry_ on the bottom of the page and tears it before folding it into a paper plane; and he waits a heartbeat or two before letting the plane go, watching as it flies up and down and in circles, turning on his heels and walking back to his empty house.

He hopes the wind will fly the plane all the way to Tokyo.

**xv. order**

Sparkling clean kitchen counter? Check. Ingredients for dinner? Check. Full fridge? Check.

Haru was moving in.

Bookshelves dusted off? Check. Books arranged in alphabetical order by author? Check. Nice looking decoration? Check.

Haru had finished his short cooking course, and had found himself a part-time job in a restaurant not far from Makoto’s apartment—soon to be Makoto’s and Haru’s.

Stainless sofa? Check. Nice smelling cushions? Check. Decent tv with no scratches or dust on the screen? Check.

“I think I want to be a professional artist,” Haru had said, and then had found a way of paying for an art school in Tokyo by himself. “I also want to be with you.” Were the words that had turned Makoto’s world upside down.

Bathroom necessities ready? Check. Clean toilet? Check. Sparkling white, comfortable looking, ready to use bathtub? Check.

“I love you, Makoto,” Haru said, and explained how that was the reason why they felt so uncomfortable around each other after that awful festival night with the fireworks from hell, back when they were still in high school; because the feelings had changed and Haru had no idea how to deal with them. “I love you. I love you.” He repeated, because he thought Makoto might not understand. “I love you so much.”

Enough room for Haru’s clothes in the closet? Check. No stains in the carpet? Check. Bed made and ready to be rested on? Check, although it might not be big enough for two grown men. Note: save money to buy bigger bed.

Makoto sits on the bed, suddenly feeling anxious and nervous and his palms are getting sweaty, and then he hears the front door opening, and he leaps out of the bedroom and into the hallway; taking long, strong steps towards where the noise is coming from.

And then there is Haru.

Haru stands there, wearing a coat that is too big on him and Makoto recognizes as his, with a suitcase behind him and a big travel bag that makes a loud thump be heard as it falls to the floor by Haru’s side. Haru’s nose and cheeks are red, and there is still a few stubborn snowflakes that refuse to melt clinging to his hair, and Makoto is by his side in an instant, fussing over his health, turning around with the intention of bringing a towel for Haru, stopping on his tracks when Haru fists a hand on Makoto’s shirt, right above his heart.

And then there is Haru. And Haru is kissing him.

And then Makoto melts, like the stubborn snowflakes on Haru’s hair; finally succumbing to the warmth.

And Makoto holds Haru closer to him as they kiss, wrapping his arms around Haru’s middle, lifting him up the floor and into the house, and Haru has his own arms wrapped around Makoto’s neck and his legs around Makoto’s hips, and somehow they don’t fall to the floor when they collide with the back of the sofa, although they do keep kissing, until they’re out of breath.

“Welcome home,” Makoto says, and everything’s in order. Everything’s okay.

**xvi. thanks**

It’s their 27th Christmas together, and their first one as a legally married pair. They had skipped family reunions, because it was their first Christmas as a family themselves, because they felt like this time they should be surrounded by each other and each other only.

The day was just starting, however, and Iwatobi was a small town. They could go and visit their friends and family later.

For the time being, they lay together in bed in a mess of tangled limbs and bedsheets; giving each other tender touches resulting in goosebumps on their skin, never looking away from each other’s eyes, never speaking a word: just basking in each other’s presence, and the peaceful moment they have to themselves, and the knowledge that there will be many more Christmases like this one to come.

“Thank you, Haru,” Makoto breaks the silence, a serene smile on his face, his emerald gaze glistening with emotion. “For letting me love you, for having me. For loving me.”

“Idiot.” Haru says, because Makoto is being ridiculous. “I should be thanking you. For loving me, for loving a person like me. For making me the happiest man on earth. Thank you, Makoto, for existing. Thank you for being mine. Thank you for making me yours.”

Makoto cries, and kisses him, and Haru tastes salty tears on his lips, and he tastes love, and he tastes sunshine, and happiness.

**xvii. look**

Makoto can feel Haru’s eyes on him from across the room, and he turns around and ignores him as best as he can. Haru is by his side not too long after, and he’s still giving him The Look, and Makoto is still ignoring him.

It goes on and on and on, Makoto trying to work on his homework, Makoto trying to fish Haru’s dirty clothes from all over the house to do the laundry, Makoto trying to feed the stray cats meowing in Haru’s backyard.

Haru follows him silently, and he’s still Looking at him. Waiting, hoping, insisting.

Makoto tries not to scream in frustration when Haru kneels behind him and rests his chin on Makoto’s shoulder as the other’s concentrating on a videogame. Haru wraps his arms around Makoto’s middle and nuzzles his shoulder, calling his name over and over, successfully blasting all of Makoto’s efforts to be Firm And Say No to smithereens. “GAH, fine, fine, okay Haru, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” he says, and turns around to pout at Haru’s lit-up eyes. “I’ll be your taste-tester for the mackerel shortcake.”

**xviii. summer**

Summer was, by a fairly big number of reasons, Haruka’s favorite season. The first one on the list being that he could swim as much as he wanted, wherever he wanted: he didn’t have to go looking for indoor pools; he could swim just fine in an outdoor one. Or the ocean, if there weren’t any pools around that he could swim in.

Another reason was that he didn’t have to dress himself in several layers of clothes to avoid freezing to death. The day could go by with Haru wearing nothing but his jammers and he’d be just fine, perfect even.

The only problem were the bugs. Annoying flies and mosquitoes all around him, insisting on flying by his ear when he was trying to sleep; but he figured he could endure them if it meant he could get Makoto to spray water on him with a hose as the twins ran around them, marveling at the rainbows their big brother made.

Makoto. That was another—and probably the biggest, if he was being 100% honest with himself—reason why Haruka loved summer: because he got to see Makoto.

Not your usual, every day Makoto that everyone got to see, mind you; this was what Haru liked to call Summer Makoto: the half-naked, dripping wet Makoto that pranced around the pool, holding his hand out for Haru to take; the Makoto he got to see in the shower after practice, soap and water sliding down his back, making his muscles glisten under the setting sun. The Makoto who walked around Haru’s house wearing nothing but his underwear, complaining about the unbearable heat while carrying a towel with him to wipe at his sweaty skin. The Makoto who was a feast to Haru’s hungry eyes as he lied on the bed underneath him, his summer-sweaty skin even sweatier as Haru moved his hips up and down; his hands slipping on the wet skin of Makoto’s chest when he pressed down on it as Haru rode him, their skin sticking together when they were finished, cum and sweat gluing them together, making Makoto complain even more, making Makoto carry Haru to the bath for a nice, cold shower and maybe go for another round while they clean themselves before sleeping.

Yes, summer was definitely Haruka’s favorite season.

**xix. transformation**

_No way._ “H-Haru-chan became a mackerel!” Nagisa’s voice echoed in his ears, and Makoto was frozen on his spot; staring at the fish that was apparently his best friend, flopping up and down the bed. _No fucking way._ “We have to let Rin-chan know right away!”

Makoto’s eyes were glued to the fish—to Haru, as Nagisa dialed Rin’s number and put him on speaker, letting him in on what was happening. Of course, Rin had been skeptical, and who wouldn’t; when someone was telling you that something as ridiculous as a person turning into a fish was actually happening in real life. “Rin, please!” he pleaded, joining in on asking Rin for help. Real or not, this was Haru they were talking about. They had to help him. They had to turn Haru back into his usual, human self.

As soon as Rin suggested the utterly clichéd and equally ridiculous True Love’s Kiss and Nagisa and Rei both turned to him, Makoto decided that this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real, and he had overslept, and soon the twins would come barging in his room and jump on his stomach until he woke up. This was ridiculous. It all ended up being as ridiculous as it was real; however, when his friends insisted he kissed Haru the Fish so he’d go back to being Haru the Human.

And so he found himself kneeling in front of his best friend’s bed, a fish in his hands, and his lips puckered, ready to smooch Haru back to normal. It’s not as if Makoto hadn’t ever thought or fantasized about kissing Haru. It’s not as if Makoto didn’t want to kiss Haru. Kissing Haru was probably what he wanted the most in his life—but not like this. He didn’t want this to be his first kiss with Haru. He would’ve never even thought—his lips were getting closer and closer to the fish—that his very first kiss would be with a fish-version of his best friend and probably love of his life.

“What are you doing?” Haru’s voice reached his ears from behind Makoto, and startled; he dropped the fish back into the bed.

“Eh?!” was all he could muster as a reply—he felt as if he was on the verge of a mental breakdown thanks to this whole situation, and the relief he felt to see Haru, human Haru, and the intense embarrassment he felt at being caught by the object of his affections about to kiss a fish which turned out to be an alarm clock. Only Haru would have such a thing.

As Rei and Nagisa walked past Haru and down the stairs to eat breakfast, Makoto stood still, still kneeling by Haru’s bed, glaring daggers at the fish. “Makoto,” Haru spoke, and this time his voice was much, much closer; and when Makoto turned to look at his best friend, their noses bumped slightly, and Haru closed the distance between them by pressing his lips softly and fleetingly to Makoto’s.

“If you wanted to kiss me that badly you should’ve just said so.”

**xx. tremble**

Makoto groaned as he tossed and turned on his bed, further curling in on himself, hugging himself tighter, pulling the blankets he had on him over his head. He was terrible with the cold.

Even now, with sweatpants and a sweatshirt on, covered in four blankets, he was still shivering, and his feet were still ice-cold. He was _terrible_ with the cold.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand let him know that it was five minutes past midnight, and he sighed; wishing he could just fall asleep already, before curiously peeking over the blankets at the sound of his bedroom door opening, at his shivering boyfriend standing at the doorframe. “I was cold,” was all Haru said, and Makoto lifted the blankets as Haru closed the door behind him and crawled in bed with him.

Makoto wrapped them both up in the blankets when Haru was comfortably lying down on his bed before wrapping his arms around his still shivering boyfriend, trying to warm him up. Even through all the layers of clothing preventing them from skin-on-skin contact, Makoto could feel the cold of Haru’s body, and he hugged him closer to his body, Haru’s face buried in his chest; their legs tangling together, and right when he was starting to feel a little warmer did Haru decide to slip his ice-cold hands underneath Makoto’s clothes, pressing his palms against Makoto’s back and making him squeal loudly. “Haruuuuu!!”

“Shhh, Makoto, you’re too loud. You’re going to wake everyone up.” His boyfriend scolded him, tightening his grip around Makoto’s torso.

“But you’re freezing!” the taller of the two complained with a pout, and looked down at Haru who stared right back at him with a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes.

“Warm me up, then,” he challenged, and Makoto’s breath caught in his throat.

It was past midnight, and Makoto wasn’t trying to sleep anymore, and he still couldn’t stop his body from trembling; but at least the cause for it wasn’t the cold anymore.

**xxi. sunset**

Haru had the ocean at his feet, the waves lapping at his skin for a moment and then they were gone; back again in an instant, and gone again.

Haru had the sand underneath him, and in it he scribbled senseless messages that would be washed away by the water even before he got the chance to finish writing.

And then right in front of him there was the setting sun in the horizon, casting a warm, bright orange glow on the ocean, on the sand, on him—on Makoto.

Makoto, who was sitting by Haru’s side, not speaking a word. Haru glanced at him and vaguely thought Makoto looked like peace. His eyes were closed and he was leaning on his hands to support his body, and there was a small smile on his face that only widened when he opened his eyes, feeling Haru’s gaze on him.

The silence stretched on between them as they continued lying on the shore—content of being by each other’s side, with the sunset as their only company.

And there was no other place Haru would rather be than here.

**xxii. mad**

It was absolutely impossible to take Makoto seriously when he was _mad_.

First off, because this was Makoto Tachibana, and he would never get seriously, honestly mad unless you had fucked up big time and managed to bring forth the apocalypse.

Second, because when he was _mad_ , he got this funny look on his face that was a mix of a pout and something that Haruka could only describe as a hamster impersonation—he did this thing where he puffed out his cheeks and looked to the side, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. It was so goddamn adorable that Haru literally had to hug himself to be able to hold in the urge to take a picture with his phone, or smother his _angry_ boyfriend with kisses.

Third, because it was so easy to coax him out of his so-called _anger_ : it only took Haru a slight, apologetic pout on his face and a quiet, sincere _sorry_ for Makoto to give in and sigh before wrapping his arms around Haru.

It was true that Haru never enjoyed to see Makoto upset, but he could make an exception when it came to seeing Makoto angry; because, honestly? Angry Makoto was about as adorable as it was seeing Makoto play with cats, and Haru could watch that forever.

**xxiii. thousand**

_There’s a thousand ways to say I love you_ , his mother had told him when he was a little kid, and taught him that one didn’t need words to be able to convey to a person how much you love them—that the caring and the love you poured into your actions, into your gestures, was all that mattered: that sometimes, your love was possible to convey even through something as simple as a gaze into your loved one’s eyes.

 _There’s a thousand ways to say I love you_ , his mother had told him when he was a little kid, and had taught him the importance of letting the people one cares about that they were loved with that which his mother had taught them. _You never know when they might need to feel loved, Mako-chan, so make sure to show the person you love how you feel._

 _There’s a thousand ways to say I love you_ , he knew; and Makoto made sure Haru got the message every day they spent together.

 _There’s a thousand ways to say I love you_ , he knew; but a thousand ways to say I love you never seemed to be enough to show Haru just how loved he truly was.

“There’s a thousand ways to say I love you, Haru, did you know?” Makoto said, and held Haru’s gaze in his before leaning down and pressing their lips together for a fleeting moment, before standing straight again, admiring the surprise in his best friend’s face. “Even though I’ve been telling you I love you all this time, you still look so surprised.”

 _There’s a thousand ways to say I love you_ , Makoto reminded himself every day, but the best way to get the message across is announcing it directly.

“I love you, Haru.”

**xxiv. outside**

Makoto has no idea what time is it, but he knows it’s in the middle of the night when he starts hearing taps at his window. He tries to ignore the sounds just in case it’s some evil entity from beyond trying to spirit him away; but then he hears something that sounds suspiciously like Haru calling his name from outside as the tapping continues, and his worry wins over his fear as he slides out of bed and opens his window before getting hit by a pebble on his shoulder. “Ow—Haru?” he calls, and looking down he discovers that that is indeed his best friend standing on his backyard. “What are you doing there? Why didn’t you just come in?”

“It was Rin’s idea,” his best friend replied, and proceeded to take out his cellphone—since when did Haru carry his cellphone with him? “He told me this was… romantic,” Haru continued as he tapped at the device before lifting it up in the air towards Makoto.

“Wha—“ Makoto was growing more and more confused by the second, before what was happening became clear to him as the music coming from Haru’s phone reached his ears. “Oh my god” Makoto deadpanned, because this was Haruka Nanase, his best friend who only went out of his way to do something if there was water or mackerel involved, who didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, who probably didn’t even know what Chris Martin was singing about as Green Eyes by Coldplay played in the dead of the night, who seemed to have forgotten that it was a school night and Iwatobi was so quiet at night you could hear even the quietest noises.

“Haru. Haru,” Makoto tried to call out to him, tried to make him realize what he was doing, that the neighbors were going to wake up and probably lynch him anytime now, but ultimately giving up once he saw the determined expression on Haru’s face, and the faint blush that was tainting his cheeks a bright pink. “God, Haru,” he continued, fondness lacing the tone of his voice, because even though this was ridiculous and clichéd as hell and _so like Rin to suggest something like this_ , Haru had gone out of his way to do this for Makoto.

The moment was gone just as Makoto had started getting into it, Makoto’s father’s voice sounding above Chris Martin’s as he spoke, “Now, now, lovebirds, we all do silly stuff when we’re experiencing our first love but it’s three in the morning, Haruka, and unless you want me to forbid you to see my son for the rest of the year I suggest you either get inside and go to sleep or return to your home as soon as possible”

The music stopped instantly and Haru bowed, “I deeply apologize, uncle,” he said, and proceeded to run to the back door of the Tachibana household; and a few moments later he was stepping through the door to Makoto’s bedroom. “Sorry,” he apologized again, and Makoto replied by kissing him in earnest.

“I’ll accept your apology if you promise to never go to Rin for tips on romanticism again.”

**xxv. winter**

Winter is by no means Makoto’s favorite season, but he can stand it. Even if it’s terrible with the cold, even if wearing layers upon layers of clothing and sleeping with an exaggerated amount of blankets aren’t enough to ward his skin from the cold, skin-breaking weather; winter has its good points.

He gets permission to let the stray cats stay in the garage, for one. He inherited his soft, good-natured heart from his mother, and naturally, it only takes a little bit of pouting—with some help from Ren and Ran—for his parents to give in and give them the ok to let stray cats in in the comfortable, warm-looking boxes and blankets the three siblings prepare for them every year. He gets to play and take care of all of them, and in the meantime spend nice evenings with his siblings, and also Haru, because Haru’s always there.

And Haru—that’s another thing he loves about winter, about his life in general. The fact that there is Haru, and Haru is his best friend, his most important person, the one who makes his heart soar and his body feel light and warm and prickle all over—Haruka.

But Haruka in winter is special, is cuter, is downright adorable. He’s no better with the cold than Makoto is, with the added bonus that he is stubborn like no one else Makoto ever knew, and Haru would never give in and admit that he’s cold because that would be like admitting that he’s lost to winter, and Haru hates losing. So it’s up to Makoto to take care of him, and make sure he doesn’t fall victim to a cold.

And Makoto does just that: wearing at least two extra layers of clothing to what he’d normally wear in winter—nobody would question him anyway, because everyone around him knows he’s an oversized baby when it comes to the cold—that he can take off and shove on Haru when he knows his best friend is on the verge of hypothermia but just won’t say it. And he’s always liked to see Haru wearing his clothes; he wears them like they’re something special, like this is something private to them—and it is, and they know it—but most of all Makoto enjoys seeing Haru wearing his clothes because they’re so big and cute on him it should be illegal. Makoto’s jackets cover down to Haru’s thighs and he has to roll up the sleeves to be able to use his hands, and he always complains about it but never says no, because he also likes Makoto’s jackets on him, likes to cover his face with them and breathe in, looking calm and peaceful and in complete and utter bliss when he thinks Makoto is not looking.

Makoto is always looking, though.

But even with Makoto’s constant gaze on him, this is Haruka Nanase, and not even the cruelest winter will keep him apart from water for a long time. Haru always manages to find a way of soaking himself in water—be it by spending hours in his bathtub or breaking into Samezuka, or Coach Sasabe’s pool, or both. And because this is Haru, stubborn, water-loving, reckless Haru, he won’t say a word when he’s feeling weakened by a cold, and will always be bedridden by the time any of them notices. And then it’s Makoto’s turn to nurse him back to health.

Which is another thing Makoto loves about winter, even if Haru is lying on the bed constantly moaning and whining that he _doesn’t have a fever, Makoto, you’re worrying too much_ , and maybe he is, but he also enjoys this side of them; because it means that Haru will ultimately let Makoto take care of him, because he gets needy and clingy when he’s sick, even if he tries his best not to show it. And Makoto revels in the fact that he’s probably the only person who knows Haru acts like a kid when he’s down with a cold and, despite his best efforts to push everyone away; he holds onto Makoto with his actions, with his gazes. And Makoto is more than happy to stay and place a wet cloth on Haru’s forehead, and if he goes overboard by hand feeding Haru the soup Makoto’s mom made for him Haru doesn’t say anything, nor does he when Makoto picks him up and carries him princess-style to the bathroom so Haru can clean himself.

And in turn, Makoto won’t say anything when Haru crawls into his legs when it gets a bit too chilly in the evenings, completely avoiding eye-contact and ignoring the amused look Makoto gives him every time, and they both know that after this what comes is the _I’m not a cuddler, I’m just cold and it’s warmer like this_ argument, and Makoto will smile and let him have his way because he doesn’t want Haru sulking and leaving his place in Makoto’s arms.

Winter is by no means Makoto’s favorite season, but when he’s with Haru it might just be.

**xxvi. transparent**

Makoto wasn’t sure if it was because of all the years they had spent together, or if it was some gift of sorts that Makoto had, but Haru had always seemed so transparent to him; he couldn’t understand how the people around him were always so puzzled when it came to his best friend.

Haru was a very simple-minded person, not hard to understand, and his thoughts always involved water or mackerel in some way or another. Haru was like an open book to Makoto; and no matter how hard he tried to hide how he felt, Makoto always found the answer. It was written plainly in his eyes, more often than not, after all.

He knew this feeling of transparency between them went both ways, though Makoto usually wore his heart on his sleeve; there were times when he himself felt like hiding, and he was good at it, but not when it came to Haru. He always, no matter what, would know when Makoto was lying or hiding his true feelings, his deepest thoughts. Makoto didn’t know if it was a problem or if he could use that to his advantage, however; when with their teenage years came feelings that were complicated and hard to deal with.

Makoto had been so caught up in hiding his feelings then, he didn’t notice Haruka’s own until much, much later, when he decided to finally face them and the look on Haru’s eyes told him he had been running away in vain like an idiot because, really; he should’ve noticed, would’ve noticed the trust, the longing, the _love_ on Haruka’s eyes if he had just looked his way.

Haru was just as transparent as he was, after all.

**xxvii. letters**

Haru stumbles upon the box when he’s doing a thorough cleaning of his house. It sits at the back of his grandmother’s old wardrobe, the cardboard it’s made of weakened and kind of humid but still standing. When he opens it, a surge of nostalgia hits him and makes him feel dizzy and sort of melancholic: the contents are all old pictures of him, Makoto, cats, and his grandma. There’s some pictures of his parents and Makoto’s parents on it, but mostly, it’s his childhood self with his best friend and his grandmother together.

He keeps digging in the old box after going through the pictures and smiling fondly at every single one of them, and underneath them he finds stacks of paper he had long forgotten about. What he holds in his hands are several letters from his best friend’s Letter Writing Phase; he remembers a 6 years old Makoto coming to play with Haru and shyly handing him envelopes more often than not. _“I’m practicing my writing!”_ was what he’d say every time, and Haru remembers not being sure if Makoto was just being Makoto, or if he was looking for some kind of advice on how to improve his handwriting. Either way, Haru always took them, and his grandmother kept them for him.

He realizes Makoto was a filthy liar back then, when most of the letters are more doodles than words, and all they say are just variations of _“Haru is my best friend!”_ , _“I love Haru!”_ , and _“Haru makes me happy!”_. He also realizes that his childhood self was kind of shitty for not noticing that this was Makoto’s way of showing his love for him, back then when they didn’t fully understand what it meant to say I love you without words. Haru thinks he hasn’t outgrown his shittiness, that he still can’t tell when Makoto is telling him he loves him, and he himself doesn’t really go out of his way to let Makoto know he loves him just as much.

Words aren’t Haru’s forte by any means, but he decides to try anyway and he steals little Makoto’s idea, grabbing a pen and a piece of clean paper and sitting down on his desk, spring cleaning forgotten.

He has some letters to write.

**xxviii. promise**

Makoto’s kisses were full of promises, Haru observed, as his boyfriend pressed his lips softly against Haru’s. They always held some kind of sentiment to them—aside from the obvious ones—and Haru was always ready to receive and treasure them.

When he left for work, Makoto promised to come back with his lips.

When they went to sleep, Makoto promised to hold him through the night.

Upon waking up, Makoto promised him another bright day together as he kissed the skin of Haru’s face, of Haru’s shoulders.

Even the ones who seemed to be random kisses that were given just because they could held a vow to them: promises of belonging to one another, promises of staying together, promises of loving until their last breaths, promises of being torn apart by pleasure.

And even though Makoto’s kisses were full of promises, this kiss, right now, on this place; had a special meaning to it, one that their friends and family were being witness to. Even if it was fleeting and not the most intense kiss they shared, it was indeed the warmest, and the one kiss that had all of Makoto’s promises melting into one: to love and protect Haru, to keep holding him and treasuring him from this point onwards, to gift him with a lifetime of happiness, to gift him with Makoto’s own self, to take Haru’s heart and hold it close to his.

And even if they didn’t need a ceremony, or any promises, to give themselves fully to each other; Haru still welcomed and embraced each and every single one of Makoto’s offerings, and he, in turn, gave Makoto his everything; even if it wasn’t anywhere near everything that Makoto deserved because Makoto deserved the world.

But Makoto didn’t want the world, he knew, he was content with just having Haru—and Haru was more than glad to promise him just that.

**xxix. simple**

Love isn’t simple, Makoto learns the hard way, when he first realizes that he’s in love with his best friend at the age of 14. He’s walking to school with Haru by his side like he always is, and he’s talking about random topics like he always does, and then he catches Haru’s gaze on the ocean, and there’s a melancholic air to him that Makoto can hardly stand to look at anymore; and then he wishes he could kiss Haru’s frown away, could take Haru’s heart in his hands and put band-aids over its cracks. He wishes he could hold Haru’s hand, and look into his eyes, and tell him he loves him.

The feelings don’t hit him like a kick to the gut because he was always aware of them, he thinks, because this doesn’t feel any new to him. What is new is that he found a name to put on his feelings now.

Love.

It isn’t simple, he is reminded of years later, when they’re in high school and Rin is back, and that’s all Haru can think of besides water. It’s all water, and Rin, and Makoto seems to be somewhat forgotten, and he steps over his feelings as best as he can and smiles for the both of them when all their problems are solved.

Love isn’t simple, Haru tells him every day by running away from the things Makoto needs to talk about, the issues they both need to address. Love isn’t simple, Haru yells at him, when Makoto presses him for answers because he’s had enough of Haru hurting himself. Love isn’t simple, Haru tells him, by running away to another country after the first time they ever fought. Love isn’t simple, Makoto thinks, and he pictures Rin and Haru in Australia, walking side by side, their fingers intertwined, and he tells himself that he’s happy for them, he really is.

Except he isn’t, and Haru notices when he comes back and Makoto smiles at him and it’s a smile full of sadness, full of resignation; and Haru looks so scared when he sees him it makes Makoto want to run to his best friend and hold him in his arms, tell him it’s okay, they’ll be okay. And he’s about to do just that when Haru beats him to it, and the next thing he knows is that Haru’s clinging to him with his arms around Makoto’s neck, and he’s fisting a hand through his hair and his voice is trembling when he says, “Please don’t give up on me,” reminding Makoto that he isn’t the only one with mind-reading powers.

Love isn’t simple, Haru reminds him once more, and he can’t help but hate the sliver of hope dancing on his chest despite Makoto’s best efforts to feel anything but hopeful, and as much as he hates it, he embraces it.

Because love isn’t simple, but he knows better than anyone that he’d get the moon for Haru if he just asked.

**xxx. future**

Haruka hated to think about the future.

Not because he didn’t care about it, but because he cared too much. The future was scary, unknown and uncertain. Future meant change, and Haruka didn’t like change, he never had: he preferred living through his days not thinking about tomorrow, simply appreciating the things he got to live as he did, and turning around when the future approached. He had lived like this his whole life; so when the future was forced upon him, the outcome had been obvious.

Haruka was scared. He was terrified. Because the future was coming after him, and things were changing, and he felt like a helpless little kid as his friends got their lives together and made their own plans without him, and he felt alone, cornered, frozen. He felt trapped, drowning under an ocean of uncertainty, and there wasn’t a single light to guide him to wherever he had to go.

But in his despair there was Makoto, and when he looked into his best friend’s emerald-colored eyes he was reminded that he didn’t have to face the future by himself, and a hand grasped his own and pulled him up and out of the dark depths of the ocean, and Makoto told him without words that _it’s not just you, Haru, it’s us against the world_.

And he clutched that hand in his tightly and stood above his fears, because the future was scary, unknown and uncertain; but he had Makoto, and with Makoto by his side Haru knew he could do anything.

**Author's Note:**

> i found an old word document with 30 random prompts on it and decided to fill them with as little angst as i could because i've decided to live a makoharu angst-free life after the latest episodes (that sucked balls, jfc). but i've been cursed with a masochistic heart, so it's been hard to not think about sad makoharus.
> 
> anyways. comments and kudos are appreciated, like always, and thank you for reading!


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